ONE
SANDY CALLING
Forging an Intimate Wartime Public at the BBC Theater Organ
CHRISTINA L. BAADE
ON DECEMBER 28, 1941, THE Sunday Pictorial published a profile of Sandy Macpherson, the British Broadcasting Corporationâs resident theater organist, calling him âa radio fairy godfather.â The profile offered a few tidbits about Macphersonâhe was Canadian, âeasy-going,â and âquite unconceited and unawed by his fameââbut its main focus was on how, with the help of his theater organ, âradioâs most human personalityâ could unite families separated by war through the magic of radio. Describing Macpherson as âprobably the BBCâs best contribution to the war so far,â the article celebrated his requests or messages programs, in which listeners wrote in with a song request and a message for a family member in the hopes that Sandy would include it in one of his broadcasts, which were heard at home (Sandyâs Half-Hour) and abroad (Sandy Calling the Middle East, Sandyâs Half-Hour for Canada, Sandy Calling India).1 The article opened with a vivid depiction of one such moment:
Somewhere in the Middle East a soldier is listening to the campâs radio set, tuned in on Britain. He is listening with one ear to organ music, while he is writing a letter home. Then he sits bolt upright, for the quiet voice of the radio has given out his name.
I have a request for Gunner Smith from his wife and small daughter. The tune is âIâll Walk Beside You.â And your wife hopes, Gunner Smith, that youâll have a happy birthday.
That is the sort of little human miracle that happens to dozens of families every week, and the man who is responsible is Sandy Macpherson, BBC organist.2
The power of Macphersonâs broadcasts lay not simply in the connections they offered for those lucky enough to be selected, but in the public acknowledgment they represented for everyone separated by the warâdemonstrating that the personal sensation of longing was also a public experience, a mark of participation in the nationâs war effort.
The potency of Gunner Smithâs story resided in what listeners had long understood: skillful broadcasters sounded like they were speaking directly to you, but it was an illusionâexcept when Sandy Macpherson actually did say your name. By the start of World War II, radio was established as a mass medium that offered an intimate listening experience. This duality was at the heart of radioâs âintimate public,â the term Jason Loviglio coined to describe the ânew cultural space created by radio broadcasting,â with its ability to cross betweenâand sometimes transgressâthe boundaries of public and private. As Loviglio observed, âRadio voices were thrilling because they moved with impunity back and forth from private to public modes of performanceâ; however, that very movement also highlighted contestations over where the line between public and private should be drawn and who got to decide.3
As I show in this chapter, Macphersonâs powerful appeal to wartime listeners was rooted in his ability to bridge modes of personal and public address in his radio performances, but his straddling of these modes also inspired intense ambivalence for leaders at the BBC and even the War Office. For the British, World War II itself was a moment when traditional boundaries between public and private were called into questionâmost strikingly when noncombatants became targets in the Blitzâbut also in government measures that impacted everyday private life through rationing, national service, and propaganda, which suggested there was a proper way for citizens to feel about the war.4 For his critics, the question was whether Macpherson and his organ encouraged the sort of public feelingâparticularly among the forcesâthat would help Britain win the war. Would reminders of home stiffen the resolve of the fighting forces, or would they undermine their morale?
A corollary to these questions involved how longing could be expressed on the air, what emotional registers were acceptable in its expression, and who should be allowed to articulate it. In his broadcasts, Macpherson centered the often sentimental and clichĂ©d words, voices, and musical choices of ordinary peopleâmen, women, and even childrenâusing the theater organ, an instrument that was closely associated with modern mass culture and, for some, overly emotional bad taste. By foregrounding popular song, ordinary voices, and âaffective and emotional attachments,â Macphersonâs programs participated in another form of âintimate public,â articulated by Lauren Berlant, which âoperates when a market opens up to a bloc of consumers, claiming to circulate texts and things that express those peopleâs particular core interests and desiresââin this case, ordinary Britons separated by war.5 While sharing with Loviglio an interest in mediatized tensions between private and public, the locus of Berlantâs intimate public was commercial entertainment, sentimentality, and public femininityâtopics that became flashpoints in wartime debates about Macpherson, his messages programs, and cinema organs in general. It was not simply Macphersonâs movement between a public and personal address that drove his popularity with listeners and, simultaneously, ambivalence from the BBC leadership; it was also the ways in which music and speech on his programs forged an intimate public in Berlantâs sense.
Published in the last days of 1941, the Sunday Pictorial article captured a high point in Macphersonâs wartime radio work. From the earliest days of the war, listeners and the more populist critics celebrated Macphersonâs reassuring presence and provision of popular entertainment. Highbrows might chafe, but airing popular music and family messages seemed a sure way to boost moraleâincluding that of Gunner Smith âsomewhere in the Middle East.â The Sunday Pictorialâs celebratory tone affirmed this approach, particularly with the still-fresh memory of the British armyâs success at Tobruk, Libya, where it had ended a 242-day siege on December 7 (a victory overshadowed by news of the Pearl Harbor attack). However, significant military setbacks in early 1942 raised fresh concerns about morale and the effects of sentimental music on the radio. In this climateâand with new leadership at the BBC (Sir Cecil Graves and Robert Foot became joint directors-general in January 1942; Arthur Bliss became the new Music Department head in April)âMacphersonâs programs, the intimate public they fostered, and even the theater organ itself became subject to censure, despite their continued popularity among listeners. Throughout the war, Macpherson, his programs, and the theater organ continued to inspire both affection and animusâresponses that hinged in no small part on the two notions of intimate public advanced by Loviglio and Berlant.
âPOPULAR ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE MASSESâ: THEATER ORGANS AT THE BBC
In December 1941, around the time that Sunday Pictorialâs readers learned about Gunner Smith, the composer and BBC Overseas Music Director Arthur Bliss penned some thoughts about the theater organ and its enthusiasts. In an early draft of what would become the BBCâs new music policy, he wrote: âThe delight Caliban takes in [the theater organ] is its evocative power to recall the hand-holding atmosphere of a cinema, where he can enjoy, suffer, and live vicariously. Certain successions of chords free the tear glands; the music starts a physical sensation of a cloying kind, offensive to a vigorous mind. The cinema organ exploits with skill its red plush quality. . . . It is a dope as insidious as opium.â6
Infantilizing, emotional, and escapist, the theater organ embodied the worst of modern mass entertainment for Bliss, who would soon bring his musical standards and sense of mission to his new role as BBC director of music. Bliss did not spare those who liked the instrument: by citing âCaliban,â the savage half-monster who inhabited Prosperoâs island in Shakespeareâs Tempest, he not only underlined the baseness of their tastes but also cast them as antithetical to the BBCâs mission of cultural uplift, which was symbolized by Prospero and the spirit Ariel, whose images stood in relief over the main entrance of Broadcasting House.7
Although Blissâs rhetoric situated the theater organ firmly within the âred plushâ realm of the cinema, he was, in actuality, attacking a well-established component of BBC entertainment broadcasting. Critics might have considered the cinema organ to be the illegitimate sibling of the church organ, but, from the 1920s the BBC treated it as respectable popular entertainment that might become a gateway to âbetter,â more serious musical fare. Indeed, cinema organs remained popular in the United Kingdom well into the sound film era, helped, in part, by the BBCâs promotion and patronage. When, in 1936, the BBC acquired a state-of-the-art Compton organ, the Times of London described theater organs as the most popular entertainment offered by the BBC, outpacing dance bands and variety.8
Such an assertion may seem surprising, given the marginalization of theater organs in popular music histories.9 However, with their streamlined consoles, âpowerful pipework,â and electronic circuitry, cinema organs embodied modern ideals of design and efficiency.10 They first arrived in the United Kingdom from the United States in 1925, but the origins story went back to the nineteenth century.11 According to Reginald Foort, who became the BBCâs first resident theater organist, the instrument was born from an Anglo-American marriage between the âideas and inventionsâ of the British church musician, organ builder, and electrical engineer Robert Hope-Jones and the industrial expertise of the Americans Farny and Howard Wurlitzer.12 The Wurlitzers and other manufacturers promoted their organs as âone-man orchestras,â which replaced the costs and hassles of employing an orchestra. Cinema and other venue owners would gain an instrument that offered a wide dynamic and timbral palette, abundant tuned percussion, special sound effects, and the distinctive flute-like Tibia Clausa, to which tremulant, a powerful vibrato, was almost always applied. As Foort explained, the cinema organ could ârepresent in turn a symphony orchestra, a cathedral organ, or a jazz-band. An almost lifelike reproduction in sound can be produced for any incident occurring on the screen, such as a baby c...